


Unusual Kinship

by Chirhoiota



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-04
Updated: 2015-04-08
Packaged: 2018-02-11 17:57:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2077629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chirhoiota/pseuds/Chirhoiota
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A young amnesiac Mycroft winds up back in time only to find him lost on the streets of London. The only thing that he remembers are the whirs of a telephone box, a brother, broken arm and a head injury. He is forced to find a way back home, but how? He forms an unlikely relationship and with his superior power of deduction tries to get himself into little trouble.  //May be a crossover but it won't be for a long time until</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> //May be a crossover but it won't be for a long time until I say otherwise, It could may as well be vague, still working on the story so expect some changes from this note...//  
> _______________________________________________________________
> 
> Spare me from the grammatical error lurking within, I have tried to prevent this, but hey nobody is perfect. Also I used the TARDIS to blame for lil' Mycroft's appearance in the 21st century. Sadly there won't be Doctor Who crossovers, yet... 
> 
> First Sherlock fic.

His arm was making every situation worse, he was getting tired and he knew that any minute he would fall unconscious.

 

The streets were filled with cars, better looking, more efficient, more powerful just from looking at the infrastructure and where and how the machineries would fit in.

 

Every step to wherever he was going was taking double of his energy and renders him breathless for another 10 seconds.

 

Where is he? Why did he have a broken arm? Where's my brother? Why does my head hurt?

 

Deduction was one thing he had but it was useless now; he was slowly losing control of his eyes as it forces itself shut and maybe for good.

 

He slumped himself on the wall outside a restaurant called, 'Lorenzo' and from that he knew that it has stood there since 1985, it is a Italian family restaurant and by looking at its interior it has been a popular restaurant increasing by the 2 years it has been opened for business.

 

His body was tired but his brain was dynamo, he was helpless lost in an unfamiliar city, world.

 

With his ears he could hear a variety of sounds mostly talking, traffic and alien music which he really disliked from what he would usually hear in classical music. It was repetitive, loud and bland it was torture, almost paralyzed and in a trance.

 

He was then greeted with warmth from the sun and darkness as he fell into deep slumber and into a mind city- trying to figure out where he must be and the guidelines he had set for himself to stay anonymous from this foreign place.

 

And as he tries to find out who HE was all he could see was static, and distorted voices.

 

He had only one goal at the end of the day, week or possibly month but logically from his situation he'd thought to himself that it would possibly take more than a month to get his brother back, then from there he had no idea how to get home or what to do next.

 

It was instinct and he immediately had a picture on his mind of his younger brother but not his name, or his previous location.

 

Now thinking about it, his brother might be in danger, kidnapped or dead and now that was definitely one thing he did not one to face at the end of god knows when.

_____________________________________________________________________  
Lestrade was on his way to Scotland Yard in an attempt of solving another case for himself and his workforce set by his Chief and this time he's trying without Sherlock's support.

 

On his way amongst the things he'd witness on the streets, that day he'd found a boy in sat in front of a restaurant with his arm bent in an unnatural way.

 

He couldn't help but helping the boy who was unconscious when he checked, he looked at his clothes and assumed that he wasn't a street youth from what he was wearing: dark trousers, a white short sleeved shirt, long red navy tie, navy sweater and black loafers.

 

The least expected outfit a modern 12 year old boy would wear, unless he was from upper class or maybe he was just a recent runaway. He was also well groomed—then Lestrade thought that it was best for Sherlock Holmes to do the deductions, not him he had to look for facts and evidence, but for now he had to get him to hospital.

 

…Or he could get one of his colleagues, but he'd thought he would only disturb their work that they're doing for him.

 

Before forgetting, he had checked if the boy was alive, in which he thankfully were.

 

Lestrade waved to a taxi and carried the child and into the rear seat,

 

"Where to?" the Taxi driver demanded,

 

Then there was a text from Sherlock,

 

"Took him long enough…" Lestrade thought, he checked his message,

 

Meet at St Bart's,

Urgent

-SH

 

And that was the reply that he didn't want, but nonetheless he's bringing this boy to hospital along the way,

 

"St Bartholomew's and quick," he finally answered

_________________________________________________  
26 minutes later,

Sherlock was inducting his experiments, he looked into the microscope and observed and occasionally wrote notes down into a pad, that was when Lestrade strode into the laboratory to rendezvous with Sherlock and John to hear his deductions. Then further question the subject he cannot comprehend as he would occasionally hear Sherlock spew out information as the form of a machine gun,

 

"Do you understand the definition of urgent?" he said with his searching eyes,

 

"I do have a job, Sherlock,"

 

"You seem proud of yourself, Inspector?" said John maintaining his bold posture,

 

"Well, I think I just saved someone's life he's here in the hospital if you don—"

 

Sherlock turned and glared at the inspector, those eyes were saying, 'Shut up…'

 

"So what was it that was so urgent?"

 

"Oh it's great that you asked, this case is boring and it was Mark Jovan the brother in law"

 

"That's it Sherlock?" John exclaimed

 

"Give me that." Lestrade ordered and seized the folder that John was currently examining.

 

"Well what do you expect? The recent crimes here are child's play, BORED."

 

John and the inspector looked at each other with disdain at Sherlock.

 

"Coming, John?"

 

"Wait, Sherlock where are we going?" John questioned whilst following him,

 

As he opened the door exit he had bumped into a nurse,

 

"Inspector Lestrade, the boy you brought in… the doctor has finished with the procedure we would like to discuss you some disturbing matters,"

 

Sherlock was about to leave with John, but this news had interested him in some way…

 

"Now, would be good" he replied,

 

"He's amnesiac but very intelligent seen nothing like it—also he does not exist according to medical records except for one in which we deny to be true."

 

Lestrade noticed Sherlock cocking his eyebrows in curiosity,

 

The detective inspector looked back at the nurse, "We may be able to get him finger printed in the police station, as he may be in the National DNA

 

Database,"

 

Lestrade saw him, "No Sherlock, you stay out of this…"

 

But coming from Sherlock nothing can stop him, making protests pointless,

 

"For god's sake!" John asserted but sighed at the end realizing it too, was pointless.

 

_____________________________________________________________________


	2. Tea time at Baker Street

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own Sherlock.
> 
> Enjoy,

"This way," the nurse guided John, Sherlock and Lestrade into the hospital room,

 

It was cold, sterile and there sat a dark auburn haired 12 years old with piercing ice blue eyes he was sitting on the hospital bed in contemplation. A side of his hair was shaven with 8, 10 stitches?

 

John walked towards the child and kneeled at his side of the bed, he did not turn around nor did he show his recognition of their presence, the only thing that had set him off was Sherlock's laugh,

 

"Pff f-a, ah ha ha ha!"

 

"What is it?!" Lestrade exclaimed, "I fail to see anything amusing."

 

"Oh, well it's just that he reminded me of someone, a-and the haircut and all." Sherlock gestured as he cried in laughter, putting John and Lestrade in sheer confusion.

 

"The doctor will come in a moment," said the nurse, the inspector shook his head in approval.

 

"No, really, but also I wanted his attention quick,"

 

Sherlock lifted his feet and onto the hospital bed and the boy looked at him the way he would look at anyone who would dare. There was an immediate spark between them- as Lestrade had observed,

 

"No, no Sherlock! Get off the patient's bed!" John pushed his leg off and held the boy on the shoulder,

 

"Get, off, me…" he responded with a surprising, intimidating voice to a point that made John and the inspector shift inches from him.

 

There was a long pause, and then John said sighing,

 

"Well, um… can you tell us your name?"

 

"M- Myc…"

 

"Michael?" Lestrade suggested,

 

"Yes, I'm Michael," but of course that was a fake alias the boy knew that it was safer and for the best.

 

"Age, you look like 11-12 ish?"

 

No reply, then Sherlock finally asked,

 

"Where do you come from? Give me anything, any recollections." Sherlock pondered,

 

"Or anything…"

 

Long silence.

 

"Why would I tell you?" the boy replied,

 

"Well, anyways," John turned to the two men, "definitely an amnesiac, retrograde amnesiac undoubtedly caused by that head trauma…"

 

Then looking at the child,

 

"Let us introduce ourselves, I am Doctor John Watson," whilst pointing to the relative direction, "that is Sherlock Holmes and that is Greg Lestrade, the one who saved you."

 

John smiled and he then 'Michael' smiled, but Sherlock knew it was false of course,

 

"You were trained in the military right?"

 

Taken aback once more he was shocked at his remarked and so was Lestrade but Sherlock just stood there who seemed to be examining the polystyrene tiled ceiling then the boy's newly castd left arm but of course he knew that he was observing and making a deduction-

 

"An army doctor, from Afghanistan. You hid your thumb when you point at Mr. Holmes,"

 

"Unbloody believable! Another one, another bloody one?!" Lestrade snapped in utter disbelief.

 

Holmes, the name sure did ring a bell to him- next thing he knew he found himself in his mind city, empty at first then he heard traffic from afar closing in towards him as if streams of new information had flooded his mind. He woke up again only a few seconds in reality… Holmes,

 

"Hello?" Lestrade whispered to him,

 

He suddenly woke up to say,

 

"Inspector…" he quickly took a look at him and from Holmes to Lestrade, "You are a detective inspector who often requires assistance with difficult cases and tend to turn to Mr. Holmes and you have been affiliated with each other for quite a few years… 4, 5?"

 

"Would you look at that?" John was very impressed,

 

"Simple really," Sherlock disagreed, "From your brains, well."

 

"Gentlemen are you a family of his?" said a voice from behind it was a doctor, the boy's doctor,

 

"No, I'm detective inspector Lestrade from Scotland Yard and these are my partners in work. We would like to know what had happened to him, or his background to help with his current condition. We wish to find the person who had assaulted the boy…" Lestrade reasoned.

 

John questioned "We?"

 

"Very well but please, try not to stress the boy out he's only woken up and is currently recovering. Anyway, take a look at this- he's also failed to provide his personal details due to his condition therefore we had to look at his medical records,"

 

Lestrade and John went up to look at the doctor's monitor whilst Sherlock stood idly still staring at the Michael and Michael staring at him.

 

"This can't be right" he then looked at Lestrade, "What do you think inspector?"

 

"By law everyone in the country must have a regulated registration of their birth, where had he been all his life? This should've been reported not even long before his birth!"

 

"Yes I know that, I'm a doctor," John complained," but this… it doesn't, it's unlikely."

 

"Well I'm hoping the National DNA Database has answers, it is our last resort."

 

1 week later…

 

"He is now allowed to be discharged from the hospital."

 

"Well, then I'll see you later."

 

The nurse nodded to John and they parted ways.

 

The boy and John head out of St Bart's and took a taxi to the social services where he will be put into temporary care in a foster home until everything was sorted out,

 

"I look ridiculous!" the boy exclaimed in his hospital garment, "I don't have proper clothing on!"

 

"They'll have everything sorted once we get to our destination, with non-school uniform clothes for sure." John replied, "I'm holding it for the police, for examination do you understand what that is?"

 

"Of course I do, I am not stupid."

 

"No you're not." John sighed.

 

The entirety of the journey consisted in silence when finally John attempts on another conversation,

 

"Do you remember anything else that we haven't asked you?"

 

"Yes of course,"

 

"Well…"

 

"I, I have a brother it was almost instinct- as if he was the key to all this, at first I didn't know his name, then something came to my mind with Mr. Holmes' name,"

 

"Yes well to no surprise, he's unique his mind is a 'racing engine', he solves cases, I blog about it- we're pretty well known in London."

 

"Is this what London looks like? I never knew that it was so," Michael had his mouth gaped upon finishing his sentence,

 

"Yes, diverse, expensive, touristic?"

 

'Contemporary,' he thought

 

Wait Holmes, had he said? Of course he may be an unusually quick recovering amnesiac but if with the boy's intellect he may be, just may be a relative from the Holmes' family.

 

"So where do you come from, where are your parents?" John inquired,

 

"Oh they're fine, happily tucked away in thick woodland- in Castle Combe,"

 

"Uhm, Sorry- I don't know where that is."

 

"It's in Wiltshire…" Michael responded nonchalantly,

 

"I- I thought you don't know anything, since you've failed to give any answers to our queries at St. Bart's." declared John,

 

"Doctor Watson, just because I'm amnesiac does not mean I've forgotten everything,"

 

"Right sorry, you see- not a psychiatrist, just a general practitioner and a former British army doctor."

 

"Fortunately..." Michael murmured with indifference to what he's currently hearing."

 

"Well, why are you not worried about them, they're likely to be searching for you? Do you know that you're 100 miles away from home?

 

"I'd rather not return home without my baby brother, there would be - severe consequences," Michael confided, '…And I thought you didn't know where I live."

 

Michael, maybe, just maybe there was a slight chance that this brother of yours is-"

 

"NO, no he isn't if you think that is,"

 

"I haven't even said,"

 

"I knew what you were going to say Doctor that it is confabulation due to my amnesia, but I am absolute that my brother exists!"

 

"Yes, you were more or less correct, you had even known the term…"

 

"Humph," the boy stared out of the window eyes closed and in concentration, 'that's it I, I think I know what's going on, only if—'

 

"NO! Get away from him, please…" he cried.

 

The doctor jumped from shock of the sudden noise and immediately assisted the collapsed boy,

 

"Driver, can you take us to 221b Baker Street instead," the doctor stressed.

 

"What are you doing, please stop, don't hurt him…"

 

John was worried-he had become quite worried for his mental and physical welfare. He checked his temperature it was hot suddenly, he had irregular heartbeat, he was tense, sweating, trembling… all common signs of a nervous breakdown.

 

Similar to Sherlock's once, when he became depressed- when his mind was in a state of chaos it took him everything in his power to try and calm him down, only to be confronted by his brother at the end when he did.

 

The boy was experiencing emotional and psychological trauma, trouble is he was talking about his brother before this all happened, and worse—he doesn't know who his brother is-his stability…


	3. A Harmless Game of Chess

Inside Sherlock's apartment…

 

"Tea, boys?" said Mrs. Hudson as she poured the boiling water into the two tea cups,

 

"Yes, thank you," Mycroft replied flatly. He sat down onto John's usual couch facing opposite of his younger brother Sherlock.

 

"What is it you want, Mycroft?"

 

Mycroft took the tea that Mrs. Hudson placed on the coffee table and Sherlock did the same but with it on his lap.

 

"Mhm…" the older Holmes took a sip from his tea and revealed a manila file out of his briefcase, "Look at this, Sherlock,"

 

Outside 221b Baker Street…

 

John was had carried the boy outside his apartment, in struggling to get hold of his door keys whilst holding him proved to be difficult without dropping him of course. Eventually, he gave up and instead decided to ring the doorbell.

 

Inside…

 

"Ooh I'll get that for you!" The landlady insisted,

 

She walked out Sherlock's flat and practically prancing down the stairs, unlocked the door and opened it revealing John with dishevelled hair and a child curled around into ball on his arms.

 

"John! What a surprise, who's this young lad, one of your patients?"

 

"Uhm, yes, sure- Mrs Hudson can you please…"

 

John nudged into the old landlady quite forcefully telling her to get out of the way then he climbed the flight of stairs nearly losing his footing on the 4th step up,

 

"Oh! In a hurry dear?" she asked.

 

John entered his apartment there he unexpectedly found Sherlock and his older brother Mycroft perched on the couch having a staring competition and a chess board indicating that one was stuck and unable to move a piece.

 

"Your move, brother dear…"

 

"Damn," Sherlock uttered, suddenly noticing John outside of his flat door coming in carrying a child inside,

 

"John! What are you doing here?" By then Mycroft had immediately stood up and two pairs of eyes pierce towards his direction, making observations and deductions.

 

He felt immediately inferior as he entered the room,

 

"What did I say to you about not bringing pests in?!"

 

"Just shut up Sherlock, this is also my flat I can bring anyone in I like," John placed the boy on Sherlock's couch on the right side of the room,

 

"Okay, you- don't do anything." John demanded at the younger Holmes, Mycroft was still stood from where he was seconds ago, still looking at Sherlock's back and the small figure brought upon the sofa.

 

"I'm going to ring the hospital, he's not going anywhere for a while."

 

John laid the child's school uniform onto the cordovan coloured coffee table, sprinted across the room into bedroom, in the retrieval of his phone which he stupidly left before heading to the hospital.

 

Inside the lounge Sherlock was looking down at the boy, still in his hospital garments he was perspiring and was restless, rolling around the couch. He hears Mycroft   
walking towards him, after a long pause the younger Holmes stated,

 

"Supposedly, he doesn't exist."

 

"Is that so?" Mycroft posed,

 

"No medical records in the country and outside or birth certificate- Private school?"

 

"No, boarding school, consider the uniform…"

 

"Well, it could be that he just started,"

 

"Unlikely, look at those loafers – its barely scuffed, would indicate that he has been there for,"

 

"4-6 months' time,"

 

"Wrong again brother mine keep up, his school year had just recently started these shoes would indicate that—"

 

"Wherever his school may be it most certainly won't be near urban areas, no shoes can sustain such little damage unless if he's been spending it on grass turf…"

 

"Precisely, oh but you've missed one thing," Mycroft looked at the logo of the school sweater, but he had second thoughts and decided for the best to keep that deduction to himself but before he could part he was interrupted,

 

"No…" the boy cried, "YOU stay here… I'm so sorry" he turned and shuffled on the couch and by that time he was hyperventilating, "be good, be good, please be good to   
mummy,"

 

"Remind me of someone?" Sherlock ridiculed at his brother but then Mycroft was in deep contemplation,

 

"Stupid, stupid," the boy shot upright from his previous position and was greeted by another two similar ice piercing pairs of eyes, then by mere milliseconds of waking up he realized who it was in front of him it was consulting detective Mr. Holmes and another figure and by observations and deduction he was able to say,

 

"Sherlock!" the brothers were slightly taken aback from his sudden statement.

 

"Yes, hello that is my name," answered the younger Holmes.

 

Surprised, the boy suddenly had frozen solid- confused and was staring at a person called Sherlock, the one he wasn't looking for,

 

'But not the right person,' he thought.

 

"Mr. Holmes," he started and after a while he had looked at the other figure looming behind him, with one quick glance he knew who the older man was,

 

"…and Mr. Holmes the older brother presumably, correct?"

 

Mycroft had given the boy a deadpan nod,

 

After a short momentarily pause, he had deduced even more from the man in front of him, he had immense power almost entirely cynical, cunning, cold, arrogant seemingly superior. He was completely horrified by him and his current situation.

 

Suddenly he had a rush feeling of anxiety as he thought that sitting and talking would not help bring his baby brother back,

 

"I'm sorry, I-I need to go to find my baby brother, now! You people will not understand him, he'll probably hurt himself, get into trouble. I'm supposed to be looking after him, from the bullies—always showing off he is.…"

 

John rushed out from his bedroom and upon hearing their conversation he forced the boy down back into the couch who was about to exit the flat, minding the brothers who did no little to prevent his escape as he grabbed a spare coat and Michael's shoes,

 

"You are not going anywhere, look at the state of you! Anyway I've called Inspector Lestrade and his chief says that it's necessary that you give us your parent's contact details."

 

"I only know the house telephone number and I'm not sure whether it's going to help,"

 

"No that's fine- we're going to the police station they will interrogate you further." John affirmed.

 

"Why won't it help?" Sherlock objected,

 

"No, Sherlock please-"John tapped away on his iPhone,

 

"They're probably not home…" Michael divulged,

 

"Alright, can I at least have your home number?"

 

Due to their lengthy conversation John had hardly realised that Mycroft had unusually sat back down on his seat, staring at the unmoved chess pieces.

 

'What's he still doing here?'

 

"The number is 01249 792509,"

 

"Right," John texted the telephone number onto his iPhone, and Michael was at most curious at the alien device he was currently handling- it was nothing he'd seen before.

 

Here's the boy's home number,

He doesn't know his parents',

01249 792509

-JW

 

"Why won't it help?" Sherlock paraphrased,

 

"They would have likely gone travelling. Also, they wouldn't expect me to turn up at their doorsteps,"

 

"Well why not,it's where you live? What is it now?" John ordered,

 

"My brother and I, we were sent to boarding school,"

 

"As suspected…" Mycroft blurt as he took a sip of his tea whilst Sherlock returned to their game as he sat down onto his armchair,

 

Michael had soon followed with Dr. Watson at his tail,

 

"Mycroft, will you be going?" John reminded as he cowers over Sherlock,

 

"Ah no, unfortunately not, that is until my brother makes his move…" Mycroft kicked his brother's leg underneath the coffee table, indicating his restlessness. Sherlock responded to moving his white bishop c5 to a7 diagonally, 2 spaces and he knew this was a risky move.

 

John looked towards the relative direction at Mycroft and Michael, they were both pulling a devious grin and the fact that they looked so similar cancelled out the distress that John is usually subjected to. He knew that Mycroft had this game and that it would be checkmate within mere seconds.

 

That was unless if Michael hadn't intervened as John believed,

 

"May I," Michael asked quite hesitantly, he was unaware that he was asking the British Government to take over his game-

 

"Ahem, Michael…" angst had taken over John- he wouldn't forgive himself if he finds him in the morgue the next morning; it would be too much of a job for Molly.

 

Surprisingly Mycroft approved without much to say, he gestured to the chess board, "It's all yours,"

 

Both John and Sherlock were perplexed to why he had permitted this boy to play over his game.

 

"Oh god… Mycroft don't you have a meeting at this hour?" John winced,

 

"Must you be so desperate in getting rid of Mr. Holmes? If he had a meeting at this hour he would have left minutes ago, he's not a man that waits nor is he someone to be waiting for…" John rolled his eyes as he distances himself from the situation. He wasn't one to be addressed like that by a child.

 

Michael moved a piece then Sherlock, He moved then Sherlock…

 

As the 12 year old dominated the game when he moved the knight forward, Sherlock found him in a predicament, he was quite aggravated. Had he been beaten by a 12 year old in a game of chess?

 

"Checkmate."

 

Michael proclaimed and smiled in pride as he had finished the game beating the Consulting detective. John had smiled likewise more in relief than in the fact that he had beaten Sherlock,

 

"Well that must be a first from a kid other than Mycroft…"

 

"Bullshit." Sherlock cursed,

 

"Sherlock, mind your language!"

 

"Michael," Mycroft begun, "that was nonetheless… impressive. Although your 2nd move of your Queen was trivial,"

 

"I was only stalling him, sir. It had made him think at more unnecessary objectives."

 

"That is quite deceitful, Michael."

 

"I could only have thought of several ways of finishing the game, about seven how about you Mr. Holmes?" Michael boasted with his question intended for both Holmes,

 

"Nine"

 

"Five," Sherlock fretted, "Bullshit."

 

"Well that explains your loss Sherlock- you were two short of possibilities out of seven I could think of, I was lucky that my misinformation had led you to believe otherwise."


	4. Let's play dress up!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock's eyes widened "That's long enough," he murmured as he inhaled energetically for air,  
> "What?" John griped,  
> "Hmm?" the consulting detective spun to exit the inspector's office, "We're going."  
> "Going where Sherlock?" the D.I questioned,  
> Sherlock's eyebrow cocked which could've only meant one thing, after being affiliated with him for years both John and himself knew that look- and it had often spelled for trouble.  
> "I am going to do what I currently exist for."  
> "That wouldn't be wise Sherlock, look at where you are standing,"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been 6 months since I've posted anything here. Here's chapter 4, I'd forgotten to put it up I dug it up within the depths of ff.net.
> 
> I'll see if I can continue on this story. If I gets any ideas.
> 
> I'm currently stuck inside a different fandom, and its impossible for me to get out.

Outside Baker Street…

 

John waved at a taxi and jumped inside after Sherlock and Michael as it stopped to a halt,

 

"Where to boys," the driver felt particularly chatty that day, "Off on a family day out?"

 

John immediately realized what was implied "Erm, What? No. We're not, what you think we-,"

 

Michael's façade had shown indifference but he had wished to be someplace else but was also curious towards the idea of it.

 

"Scotland Yard," Sherlock interrupted,

 

The driver nodded and said nothing afterwards and assuming that whatever reason they were heading to the Police had to be serious enough, especially having brought a minor.

* * *

 

After a series of questions through interrogation and the required fingerprints, the police and the national database have to still question the boy's background and any conception of the offender that both remains inconclusive.

 

Also, the phone number given by Michael was no longer valid and until they could investigate further by phoning the landline phone supplier, a pending approval was sent to the Chief Superintendent.

 

"Well, this case is on a standstill." Lestrade spoke,

 

Sherlock stood inattentively as John is left to wonder what he is able to do next,

 

"How long until… then?"

 

"A couple of days, to say the least,"

 

Sherlock's eyes widened "That's long enough," he murmured as he inhaled energetically for air,

 

"What?" John griped,

 

"Hmm?" the consulting detective spun to exit the inspector's office, "We're going."

 

"Going where Sherlock?" the D.I questioned,

 

Sherlock's eyebrow cocked which could've only meant one thing, after being affiliated with him for years both John and himself knew that look- and it had often spelled for trouble.

 

"I am going to do what I currently exist for."

 

"That wouldn't be wise Sherlock, look at where you are standing,"

 

John was in another of those situations he had often found himself in. Would he rather go ahead with Sherlock or prevent himself from being killed or ending up into trouble with the law,

 

"You're going to get him aren't you?"

 

"Yep."

 

The Inspector who was in a spot of bother, he had poised himself better on the reclining black leather chair, in the hopes of gaining some authority of the current situation.

 

"Unless you want to be arrested or you want the local council knocking on your door- then go ahead."

 

"I'll be his temporary guardian through private arrangements have Mycroft sort it out."

 

"Alright then, I'm off to look after the children," John let out and exasperated sigh.

 

"I'm really not sure that Sherlock's fit for that job… I mean a bloody psychopathic freak with a child?" Anderson declared reaching for his cup of coffee as he resumed,

 

"No, what I meant was," Sherlock was off before he could bother interpreting what would had been said.

 

"I guess I'll be going too…" and with that John followed the consulting detective and dreaded for what was to come leaving Lestrade distraught,

 

"SHERLOCK!"

* * *

 

"Alright, I'm home. I've bought the essentials he needs and some shopping," he scans the room to look for Michael only to found himself sitting on the floor watching television watching EastEnders on mute, "What are you doing?"

 

Without bothering to look at the Doctor he answered in a monotone, "Surely you're smarter than that Doctor Watson,"

 

John was in actuality pissed, really pissed. This was his second attempt to belittle him. After dropping his shopping onto the kitchen counter he placed a cardboard box filled with clothes onto his couch. It had looked like clothes from John's youth and somehow it had still held some sort of sentimental value to be still in possession of it.

 

"Right, here is some extra clothing since you only have a dress on."

 

After rummaging through the clothes, Michael had settled into his casual attire of what he'd usually worn when he wasn't wearing either his uniform or pajamas. He was wearing a dark shirt with a grey cotton jumper with black stripes which were quite large especially the tweed coat that had its sleeves covering the hands. The undergarments were of course the part of the 'essentials' that John had bought along with socks, and for clothing on the lower half of the body they were still looking,

 

"I'm afraid all the trousers and jeans I've got are still too large for you even with a belt on. I guess you'll have to wear the shorts,"

 

Unfortunately, a visitor happened to pop in to witness Michael who had remained silent throughout the process and John hopelessly trying to fit on multiple shorts on him in the hopes of finding one that will more or less fit his size,

 

"Why didn't you pick the t-shirt, hoodie or denim jacket instead?"

 

"I don't do small talk, Doctor"

 

"Right…"

 

That particular visitor was no other than Mycroft Holmes, who came to scold off Sherlock. As he entered the first person to come into eye contact with him was with Michael which he then glared towards Sherlock,

 

"Brother dear…"

 

John jumped at his sudden introduction,

 

"Although I accept that your line of work involves institutive action this is quite foreboding. I'm afraid I have to decline what you have proposed." The government official fretted,

 

"I too must decline," Sherlock replied with shut eyes, "I find your visits too frequent it's bothersome. Leave."

 

With much contempt Mycroft answered in his usual tone, "I'm tempted to do likewise and I visit when I can. Sherlock, I will not entrust you to be the guardian of any child, instead I must delegate John to do so alternatively."

 

There was a silence in which a protest was expected from John leaving Sherlock awoken by the unusual occurrence and Mycroft with his condescending look. John was too absorbed by something else,

 

"I don't see how you're even trying to follow a story without sound you know the story has dialogue to help you, why do you even watch rubbish shows. Go watch something… educational?" The doctor asserted.

 

"I am afraid I have to disagree on your assumptions. In my experience, the story is irrelevant hence are your derogatory remarks and proposition."

 

Michael resumed watching sat on the floor and with his knees touching his chin. John was in utter confusion what did Michael meant and the Holmes brothers were waiting for his response?

 

"So you're saying that you're some kind of child that can tell whether a show is rubbish or not-"

 

 

"No." Michael simply replied.

 

"I'm sorry, did you need anything Mycroft?" John sounded nonsensical and that probably was the case, he'd thought.

 

"I trust Sherlock to tell you what we've discussed, obliquely. Goodbye."

 

And with the tap of his umbrella and a spin of his heel he was off to the next station of conferences.

 

"We're getting a train," Sherlock suddenly announced, "Let's go John, him too."

 

"Where are we going? You don't take the tube, not after you've found out how many-"

 

"Yes, alright no need for that." Sherlock interrupted, "Not the tube, St. Pancras to Wiltshire, Castle Combe."

 

"You have figured as much," Michael replied unsurprised.

 

"…And unless I'm there I won't be any closer to solving this case."

 

"Wait, we can't have him travelling he's not mentally fit to do so." John appealed, 'although that's where his brother is, it could help him recover if we find him- We've got Sherlock.

* * *

 

At Chippenham Station…

 

As the three exits the station John is left to wonder how they will be able to travel anywhere. In the hurry of getting there after Sherlock booked in ticket right at the last minute, he'd left all of his cash savings and had him instead to cover all their costs if they had to stay overnight.

 

"Right, so have you got a cab to drive us to his village?" The doctor inquired.

 

"No,"

 

"Well bloody brilliant!" John exclaimed, "How the hell are we supposed to get there?"

 

"Given that we're about 6.2 miles away from the village," Michael begun, "It would take you two about 2 hours arrive."

 

John rubbed his eyes in discontent, "Us two? What makes you think you're not coming with us?"

 

"I'm assuming that your reason to go there is to find any evidence to where my parents could be and waste your time with trivial information that you may find, but I'm here with another agenda to meet my brother and find him."

 

"Wait, you're very- you don't make sense what do you mean? You know where he is?"

 

"To whom are you implying? I'm afraid that you are the one that is not making any sense."

 

"Sherlock?" John finally consulted the consulting detective who by the looks of it was currently trying to make his sense of the whole situation.

 

"There's more than another person in the picture John, his _other brother._ "

 

"Then why didn't you tell me this right at the beginning!?"

 

Michael began to walk to the direction of his boarding school, leaving John and Sherlock conversing until they had realized he had a head start not towards Castle Combe but South of the station.

 

'Where's he going now?' John wondered.


End file.
